


Saturday-Morning Cartoons

by looktotheskies



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Bucky Barnes is a menace, Camping in the Living Room, Domestic Fluff, Families of Choice, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, References all over the place, Siblings, Steve Rogers Is A Lying Liar, Team as Family, They're All Children At Heart, Wanda Is A Sneaky Little Traitor, cartoons, minor feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-13 23:32:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10524234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/looktotheskies/pseuds/looktotheskies
Summary: Bucky Barnes discovers one of life's simple pleasures: doing nothing with the people you care about.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The working title for this was "How Many References Can I Fit in 10,000 Words Or Less?"
> 
> This entire story is utterly ridiculous, ran wildly out of control, and it all came about while I was watching Dexter's Lab.

Bucky Barnes woke up feeling _great_.

It was a Saturday morning not unlike any other Saturday morning. The sun still rose in the east, the Earth still revolved around the Sun.

The past and all its terrible things still existed.

Bucky didn’t remember dreaming last night, so he couldn’t say whether there had been any bad ones, but that was neither here nor there. What mattered was that today, he felt as whole and together and completely _Bucky_ as he had in a long time. Too long. There couldn’t possibly be any better way to greet the morning.

He got out of bed and made his way to the bathroom. He paused at the dresser for a moment before deciding that today was gonna be a Stay-In-Your-Pajamas-All-Day kind of day. And with his quality sleepwear, it wasn’t a bad idea. Pants, the fleeciest. Shirt, the Hawkiest: a gift from the younger and cooler Hawkeye.

Bucky stuck his toothbrush in his mouth and went back to the bedroom. He drew the blinds and stared out at the beautiful day before him.

The birds were singing, the sun was smiling, and Bucky was looking forward to a long day of sitting on his ass doing absolutely jack-shit with his best friend in the whole wide world: Steve Rogers. Wasn’t like Captain America had anywhere else to be.

There hadn’t been any potentially world-ending disasters since Ultron had tried to drop a city from the sky, and that was easily over a year ago. With nothing in dire need of avenging, the heroes scattered: the God of Thunder was off in another realm dealing with godly things, Iron Man was officially retired (and yet he kept hanging around), Bruce Banner was still MIA, and Clint Barton, a.k.a. ~~Hawkeye~~ Birdman #1, had left the superhero life behind to become a slumlord of Bed-Stuy (or was he hanging out on a farm? Some wires must be crossed in Bucky’s head). This left the rest of Earth’s Mightiest Heroes + Bucky Barnes sitting pretty in a swank new compound with nothing to do.

Teeth cleaned and hair brushed, Bucky left the comfort of his room and started down the hallway. He took care not to stomp past the doors of sleeping heroes. Just ‘cause he was up early didn’t mean they had to be.

First order of business: breakfast. The most important meal of the day. And a hearty Saturday morning’s breakfast could only be found in the common room. To get there, he could go the short way: turn left and up two flights of stairs, or he could go the long way: head straight, up one floor, meander past the training area, right turn, straight, up another set of stairs, and finally through a pair of glass doors into the common room..

Bucky decided on the long route. He was in no hurry. He took time to linger by the training area, leaning his arms against the railing.

During the week, the Winter Soldier took part in training alongside the New Avengers. His favorite by far was the Maximoff girl, Wanda, the absolute sweetest kid. She was also maybe the scariest of the bunch--and that’s including Nata--because there was no telling what that kid could do. The small-level stuff was amazing as it was: Thursday afternoon was the first time Bucky had ever been levitated. Wanda had had a smile on her face as red waves of energy took Bucky clear up to the ceiling before gently letting him back down. Steve was beaming and had said, “It’s really something, isn’t it?” while Wanda smiled all the while.

From time to time, that happiness would fade, and she would retreat into herself. It was very rare, but it happened nonetheless. Steve had told him about the loss of Wanda’s brother, Pietro. Maybe Wanda could join him and Steve in doing nothing today.

He conjured up ideas for activities as he continued his quest for food.

Before Bucky even wandered into the room, he could immediately see through the glass walls that Tony Stark was already there, seated at the breakfast bar, sipping from a mug of coffee while tapping on a digital tablet.

So he wasn’t the only one up early on a Saturday. Bucky made his way to the kitchen. Stark didn’t greet him as he walked by--not unusual. Bucky had had some bad days, after all. However, a song was softly playing, and Bucky knew he had heard it before, somewhere...“Long Ago and Far Away”? (Nope, wrong song, but the name would come to him.)

Now, Stark playing an old-timey tune at parties or even those super-enjoyable team dinner get-togethers wasn’t unheard of, but playing a wartime song while Bucky was the only other person in the room?

Highly suspect.

It would seem that Tony Stark had woken up this morning with the sole intent of getting a rise out of Bucky before breakfast. Oh ho-ho, not today, Mr. I’m-Just-A-Guy-In-A-Suit-And-I’ve-Got-Nothin’-On-The-Winter-Soldier. _Not today_.

Bucky didn’t acknowledge the song and instead grabbed a bowl out of the cabinet. He was acutely aware that the volume of the music increased by the slightest bit. Seeing as how it had become plainly obvious the song was meant to be noticed, Bucky decided to hum along with the trumpet’s melody and bob his head to the pick of the bass; he could feel the consternation radiating off of Stark as he poured himself some Cap’n Crunch.

Then a woman’s voice began to warble lovingly about things that “ _seem to be happening again_ ,” and Bucky stopped humming. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Stark smirking into his coffee.

Bucky remembered when he had first heard the tune: December, 1941. America had just entered the war, Christmas was right around the corner, and Lena Horne was on the radio singing about how she couldn’t remember “Where or When.” Bucky had always liked Lena better than Dinah Shore and all the rest. Maybe it was just ‘cause she was born in Brooklyn, but he made sure to turn up the dial a little whenever her records were being played. And this was really a very good one, especially with that solo trumpet in the middle...or was it a clarinet? Hell if he knew; Bucky couldn’t hardly tell a bassoon from an English horn.

Meanwhile, Stark had been sitting there looking like the cat that ate the canary while Bucky took his quick detour down recently restored memory lane. Not wanting Stark to keep thinking that he had won with the cheap shot at the guy with memory problems, Bucky took his bowl of cereal and edged around the bar slowly and deliberately until he stood alongside Tony.

“You tryna tell me something, Stark?” Bucky purred with all the charm a guy could muster while wearing a purple Hawkeye t-shirt and holding a spoonful of Crunch Berries.

“What’s that?” Tony cast him a sidelong glance and fucking _started the song over_. He was gonna run this joke into the ground, Bucky just knew it.

He set his bowl aside and slung his left arm around Stark’s neck, letting his hand hang loosely.

“Hey now...” Stark started, eyeing the metal appendage uneasily.

“I had no idea you felt this way about me.”

“Wait.” Stark quickly swiped at his tablet, and a new song came through the speakers. He waited patiently for Bucky to remove his arm; Bucky waited patiently for Stark to realize what song he’d just chosen. Apparently, the brain damaged super-soldier was more in touch with his past than he’d realized.

Today was a fucking _fantastic_ day.

The lovelorn lyrics floating throughout the kitchen were decidedly less ambiguous than the words of the previous sentimental tune.

“Oh, no--shit. Specifically decided _against_ this one,” Tony mumbled and scrambled for the device again, but Bucky easily slid it out of reach.

With an exaggerated wink and a nod, Bucky assured him, “Don’t worry, Tony. I got your message loud and clear.” The arm around Stark’s neck pulled him close while the other reached up to cradle his head against Bucky’s chest. Tony protested, but Bucky shushed him and slowly swayed side to side.

Then the deadly ex-assassin started to sing.

“ _Who am I...to dream about your kiss?_ ” Bucky crooned along with the ever lovely Vera Lynn. Stark squirmed and grasped uselessly at the arm around his neck, but Bucky didn’t falter. “ _Who are you...to treat my heart like this? Whyyyy should I be stiiiill and let this thrill pass me byyyyy?_ ”

“Barnes, I swear to God--”

Bucky tightened his grip. “Shh, don’t fight it. _I must have you...but who am I?_ ”

Finally, Tony managed to utter a strangled, “ _F.R.I.D.A.Y._ ”

The Invincible Iron Man’s personal artificial intelligence assistant answered, “Yes, boss?” sounding dangerously unconcerned with her creator’s current state of distress.

“Turn the music off. Turn it off!” he commanded.

Then all was quiet in the kitchen once again, save for Stark’s coughing and ragged breaths. Now he was just being melodramatic; Bucky had only choked him a little.

“You’re a hoot and a half, Stark,” Bucky stated flatly.

Tony straightened the tie of his fancy three-piece suit and quipped, “Is that old man speak for ‘incredibly fun and a great joy to be around’? I’m flattered, I really am, Barnes.” Bucky had to hand it to Stark; being put in a chokehold couldn’t stifle the man’s wit.

“What are you even doing here?”

“Oh, good morning to you, too.” Under his breath, Stark muttered, “Pleasant as ever, I see.”

Bucky shrugged and took his bowl with him to the larger of the two couches. He grabbed the box of Cap’n Crunch on his way there. He stacked all the pillows against one side and collapsed against them, cereal box at his feet.

Stark ran his hand along the breakfast bar. He rubbed his fingers together, wiping away imaginary dust. “You know, we have a dining table for a reason.” He shot a pointed glance at Bucky.

Bucky stared back defiantly, lifting the spoon to his mouth. He chewed slowly.

Stark smirked and shook his head. A thoughtful look crossed his face. “I’ve seen pictures of you from back in the war. You’ve really beefed up since then.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and started walking towards Bucky.

“I mean, I guess so.”

“Come on, dude. You more shredded than a Julienne salad, man.”

And that line sounded vaguely familiar...from a film about the making of a film...he couldn't entirely remember. Maybe it was an entirely original quote from the mind of Tony Stark.

Bucky nodded and tipped his spoon towards the man. “Thanks, Stark.”

“Any tips?”

He was taken aback. He hadn’t expected Tony Stark to ask the Winter Soldier for fitness advice in a hundred years. “What?”

“Any tips you got?” Stark was at the edge of the couch now, fixing him with an earnestly inquisitive look.

Bucky stirred his cereal around. “Well, I suppose the trick is to get serumed up by some evil fu--”

Suddenly, Stark snatched up the Cap’n Crunch box in one quick motion. “Give me that goddamn cereal. This is a civilized establishment.”

“Hey!” Bucky sat up straight and flapped his hand at Stark.

It was too late, Stark was in the kitchen putting the cereal away in a cabinet. Sure, Bucky could easily get up and go get it, but...it was all the way over there. He didn’t want it that bad.

Tony Stark fastened the buttons on his suit and headed for the staircase. “I’m off to the city. Got some work at the Tower to take care of. Vision’s coming with me, and I’m leaving F.R.I.D.A.Y. interfaced with the facility.”

“Without you?”

He pursed his lips and answered, “Let’s see how well she meshes.”

Like a spectre summoned, the android Vision, cranberry skin vibrant against his crisp lemony ascot, ascended straight through the floor between Stark and Bucky. It was always a little unnerving when he floated in unannounced.

To Stark, “Ready to go, sir?”

“Yep. I was just about to go downstairs.”

Vision turned to Bucky and raised his hand in greeting. “Good morning, Sergeant Barnes.”

Bucky dipped his chin in response. “Morning.”

Stark turned and pointed a finger straight at Bucky. “Don’t burn the place down. F.R.I.D.A.Y., look after the kiddos.”

“You got it, boss,” she answered.

And with that, Stark and Vision were gone and Bucky was left alone.

For a while, the only sounds in the room were spoon clinking against bowl and soft crunching.

Until it was empty, and then Bucky was sitting there on an empty couch in an empty room with an empty bowl. He heaved a heavy sigh. He set his bowl on the floor.

He stretched out along the couch, pillows at his back, feet up on the armrest. The frame inside the armrest dug into his ankles. He pulled a small pillow from behind his head and propped it under his feet.

Perfect.

He swiveled his head around, scanning the room for the TV remote. He spotted it at the edge of the table farthest away from him.

Imperfect.

He reached a leg out and carefully pushed down on the table. It eased up on its side, and the remote slid down the incline, straight into his waiting hand. Bucky clicked the television on.

Morning news, nothing good. Skip. Talk show, annoying hosts. Skip. Game show, boring contestants. Skip. Cooking show, colorful chef. Stay.

The guy had a chalkboard in his kitchen with a saying printed in large letters. Something about a platypus? And oh look, there went a cardboard cutout of a blue platypus, foaming at the mouth, holding a cocktail. Just danced right across the screen.

Bucky liked this guy. This guy knew how to teach essential cooking skills.

Unfortunately, the program was about over. Bucky drank in every comedic bit of the ten minutes left. He checked the guide to see whether there was another one coming one.

Nope, swell. Fantastic. Back to channel surfing.

He clicked through a dozen more duds before landing in the middle of a black and white film. Rosalind Russell was chattering away at Cary Grant, and he was firing right back at her.

Hilarious movie. Bucky remembered going to see it in theatres. A classic comedy that you could never go wrong with. And maybe he was feeling a bit nostalgic after singing with Vera Lynn earlier.

Damn it if Stark hadn’t won after all.

Bucky opened his mouth to speak but quickly snapped it shut. He gazed at the ceiling. Bucky had met F.R.I.D.A.Y. before, but it was always while with the team as a whole, while Stark was around. He had never had a one-on-one conversation with her. What if she didn’t wanna talk to him?

Only one way to find out. “Hey, F.R.I.D.A.Y., you ever seen this picture?” If she didn’t respond, at least there was no one around to witness him make a fool of himself.

“I don’t have eyes, Sergeant Barnes.” So the computer had jokes. “The boss man tells me it’s fair class, though.”

She seemed to be pleasant enough. Bucky immediately felt more at ease speaking to the empty room. “Say, how do I go about renting this? Who would even carry these films anymore? I missed the beginning of it, and I bet Steve’d love to see it again.”

“This film is in the public domain, available to anyone at any time. It’s been downloaded and queued up for you and Captain Rogers to view whenever you please. All you have to do is say when.”

He smiled at her words. “You’re a real doll, F.R.I.D.A.Y. Speakin’ of Steve, what’s that slacker up to? Ten thirty in the morning and I haven’t heard a peep out of him.” Bucky sat up with the intent of charging into Steve’s room like the bored and restless ex-HYDRA menace he was, but a theory about F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s facility-wide connection kept him rooted to the cushion. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., dearie, would you mind connecting me to Steve’s room? Is that a thing you can do?”

When the AI answered, she had exchanged her Irish lilt for a squeaky, nasally, over-the-top Jersey accent. “No problem, sir. Number, please?” F.R.I.D.A.Y. asked, and she could’ve belonged to any number of screwball comedies from Bucky’s youth.

Bucky sat in shock for a moment, processing, before snorting in the ugliest manner and falling over sideways onto the mountain of pillows. So the computer was full of all sorts of jokes. Who knew? Great bellows of laughter shook from his chest, and he scrambled to come up with a suitable fake phone number. “Yeah, sure thing, it’s--” he choked out between gasps for air, “--uh, it’s...Grant One-Eight-One-Seven.”

“Putting you through now.” And holy hell, she threw in some clicks and whirrs that sounded just like a real switchboard.

At once, Bucky was certain that F.R.I.D.A.Y. was Tony Stark’s single greatest invention.

There was no immediate response from the intercom, and Bucky hadn’t expected one. He managed to regain his composure and tried tentatively, “Steve?” Still no response. Come on. Steve wasn’t that heavy a sleeper. He tried again with a louder and more direct, “Steve.” Huh, not even a grunt of acknowledgment.

So that’s how it was gonna be. Bucky had seen that cartoon with the talking baby, he knew what to do.

“Steven. Steven. Steven. _Ste_ -ven. Steven. Steve. Steve. Steve. Stevie. Stevie. Stevie. Stefan. Stef--”

F.R.I.D.A.Y. interrupted the litany of names, and Bucky was just a little disappointed to hear the Emerald Isle back in her voice when she informed him, “I’m afraid Captain Rogers isn’t in his quarters.”

Bucky scoffed and replied, “Impossible. Did Stark leave that tablet here?” The AI directed him to where the tablet laid on the counter top, and he asked her to pull up the video feed--labelled SENIOR_RESIDENT-01 ‘cause Stark thought he was clever--of ‘Captain Rogers’s quarters’. The screen rewarded him with a surprisingly high-resolution view of the entirety of Steve’s room. (Actually, it wasn’t that surprising considering the man who oversaw the compound’s security built flying metal suits and sentry robots.)

On the dresser, Bucky could clearly read ‘WORLD WAR II VETERAN’ embroidered across a black baseball cap that sat on top of a book about musically-inclined dragons or something. A full-color print of the Commandos hung next to a framed photo of the Avengers. Captain America’s shiny shield of patriotism leaned against the nightstand, well within arm’s reach. And on the bed, there was the unmistakable form of Captain America himself, a big blond lying liar sleeping peacefully on his side.

“You are a damn dirty liar, Steven G. Rogers!” Bucky shouted accusatorily at the ceiling; he was about seventy-one percent positive F.R.I.D.A.Y. hadn’t yet shut off the intercom link.

Sure enough, looking back at SENIOR_RESIDENT-01, the little shit had the gall to smile.

“ _Et tu_ , F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” Bucky gasped, remembering the AI’s part in the extremely short-lived deception. He held a hand over his heart in mock betrayal.

“Forgive me, Sergeant Barnes, but Captain Rogers requested--” F.R.I.D.A.Y. started to explain, but she cut off when the disgruntled super-soldier waved the tablet through the air, shaking his head.

To the screen, Bucky whispered, “You sleep on a bed of lies.” He witnessed the ensuing laughter from Steve, and it told him that, yes, his super-hearing was indeed sharp enough to pick up a whisper transmitted through Stark’s tech.

Good. Steve deserved to hear the truth of his mendacity.

Bucky abandoned the tablet in its original resting place and returned to his couch nest. If he got his way--and he would--it was going to be his spot all damn day. He jabbed at the 'Channel Up' button. No more movie, Stevie ruined it.

He was still clicking through channels when Steve made his appearance, quietly stepping through the glass doors. Out the corner of his eye, Bucky could see that Steve was in his pajamas as well. Good man. Bucky heard him walk to the kitchen.

“Morning,” the liar greeted.

Bucky refused to turn his head and acknowledge him.

“I’m starving. Did you eat already?” He heard the fridge door open and close. A couple cabinets were swished open then softly shut. Steve never slammed doors of any kind, and Bucky always appreciated that about him.

He still wasn’t having any part of this conversation, though.

“Nobody else is up yet. Maybe I’ll wait and make something when they’re around. What do you think?”

No answer, of course, but Bucky was no longer purposely ignoring Steve. On the TV, people were screaming, a blond god was being thrown through the air, and then...no. _No_. But it was unmistakable. He rewound and swiftly hit ‘Pause’.

In the kitchen, Steve continued on, oblivious to what was happening onscreen. “Think I”ll just have an apple for now.”

“Oh, my God,” Bucky breathed. Then, urgently, “ _Steve._ ”

Steve rushed right over, his face a mixture of two parts resolute devotion, one part selfless concern, one part fierce determination, and just a dash of worry, ready to fight any demons who dared to torment his closest friend. “What is it?”

“You didn’t tell me,” Bucky grieved, hurt evident in his tone.

Steve’s face fell at the accusation. Stricken and confused, he croaked, “What?”

Bucky could see the wheels turning in Steve’s head as he searched for whatever small thing he might have accidentally kept from Bucky. “You didn’t tell me...” he explained slowly, aiming the remote at the TV. Steve narrowed his eyes at the flash of white light frozen onscreen. “...that you were in a _cartoon_ ,” Bucky finished and pressed ‘Play’.

A superhero’s silhouette appeared amid the white light, standing proudly with arms akimbo, before quickly revealing a barrel-chested man adorned in red, white, and blue. He wore a golden eagle on his head, and a cape of the Stars and Stripes flowed majestically behind him. His ten-dollar smile glinted with a chime when the announcer introduced him as Major Glory. The crowd chanted “U-S-A! U-S-A!” and Bucky giggled with glee.

“Jesus, Buck,” cried Steve. “I thought this was serious.” He punched Bucky in the shoulder and slumped in the seat at the far end of the couch, arms crossed and legs outstretched.

“This is serious! Look at him. How could you not tell me that this existed?”

Steve stared sullenly at the television and admitted, “I have no idea what this is.”

“Great, is what it is,” Bucky answered.

Onscreen, Major Glory jabbed his finger into the chest of a blue alien wrestler and emphatically declared, “Well, I am America, mister. Do you really think you can beat America?” Upon hearing this, Bucky chanced a glance at his friend. Steve had slouched farther down, but a smile played at the corner of his mouth. The major continued, “The _speed_ of America? The _strength_ of America? The constitution of _America_?” By the end of the speech, Bucky was chortling and Steve was grinning.

The large wrestling alien did not cower before Ol’ Glory. “Major Glory, you speak boldly, and your breath is minty fresh...”

Bucky stretched his leg and nudged Steve’s knee with his foot. “Is your breath minty fresh, Steve? Is that the secret to Captain America’s legendary presence?”

“You tell me.”

Bucky barely had time to register the response before a solid weight crashed into him and tackled him off the couch, and then Steve was sitting on his chest. And Steve was _heavy_. “Get offa me!” Bucky growled.

“Nope. Wanna find out if my breath is minty fresh?” Steve stuck his tongue out and leaned in close. “I’m gonna lick your eyeball,” he taunted--except his tongue was still sticking out so it came out sounding like, “Ah gon’ lick yah ah’all.”

Bucky used both hands to shove Steve up and away from his defenseless eyeballs. “Don’t you dare, _don’t you dare!_ I swear--” Bucky took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “Steve, Steve...don’t make me hurt you.” All he got was an incoherent, “Nyuuuh,” in response, so Bucky swung his leg up and over Steve and shifted his weight, sending the big blond tumbling backwards.

Steve latched onto Bucky’s leg, and suddenly there was a foot flying straight for his head. He dodged the attack but accidentally shouldered the coffee table in the process.

F.R.I.D.A.Y. exclaimed, “Oi! Stop your caffling before you break more of the bloody furniture!”

The overgrown Brooklyn boys both looked at the coffee table. There was maybe a bit of a crack, but it really wasn’t that noticeable. Kind of.

Hoping to appease F.R.I.D.A.Y., Bucky grabbed Steve’s foot and rolled the pair away from the table.

Unfortunately, Steve had the same idea. They ended up rolling too far, and a couch ended up sliding seven feet away when two super-serumed bodies collided with it.

A decorative bowl and the end table it sat upon toppled to the ground during the couch’s trip across the room. Three large wicker ball things and ten fucking thousand _glass pebbles_ scattered along the floor, because obviously the Avengers had a moron for an interior decorator.

Steve and Bucky waited nervously for the noisy pebbles to stop skittering and bouncing. Every click and clack seemed as loud as the fire from a Tommy gun, and they knew that the longer the rattling went on, the farther away the pebbles were settling, which meant a bigger mess for the both of them.

F.R.I.D.A.Y. didn’t verbally reprimand the boys; an intensely irritating high-frequency squeal resonated from the speaker directly above the super-soldiers.

“Now look what you did,” complained Steve.

Bucky protested, “Me? You were the one threatening to lick my goddamn _eyeball_.” He lurched forward and planted his knee on Steve’s stomach. “Where on earth did you get that idea anyway?”

“Some outrageous show Natasha’s got DVR’d. She was watching it last time she was here, and I sat through part of it. There’s this preacher in west Texas, and he’s...” Steve trailed off and shook his head, at a loss for words. “I don’t know. It’s nuts.”

Steve, thinking this conversation was over, pushed himself up on his elbows and tried to sit up.

A metal hand splayed across his chest and pinned him to the floor. “Nothing doing, Rogers. You’re not going anywhere.” Bucky made a great show of popping his pinky in his mouth and swirling it around. With a satisfyingly wet _pop_ , he removed his finger and reached towards Steve’s face, stopping just short of his nose.

Steve stared wide-eyed at the saliva-coated finger hovering before him. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would.” Bucky waggled his finger and inched his hand closer to Steve’s ear.

“But I didn’t even do anything! Buck, I’m serious. Don’t you do it.” Steve flattened his hand over Bucky’s face and attempted to hold him at bay. The other grasped at a wayward pebble, and he chucked it at Bucky’s forehead.

At least, Bucky was hoping Steve would aim for his forehead and that he would never be so cruel as to target his fucking eyeballs for the second time today.

That was two times too many.

The pebble rocketed straight into Bucky’s left eye and fell to the floor with an innocent and unassuming _plink_. His eye instinctively began to water, eyelid blinking rapidly in response to the foreign object. Bucky spluttered in shock and stammered, “Uh, pebble--pebble in my eye.” Through the haze of pain, Bucky saw Steve twist his mouth to the side in a poor attempt to hide his amusement.

“You okay there?” Steve asked lightly.

Bucky glared and realigned the plates in his arm. There was no way that Steve was going to squirm out of this. “Now you’ve done it, Steve.”

The Winter Soldier stuck his wet pinky in his victim’s ear with a cry of triumph, Captain America roared in protest, and F.R.I.D.A.Y. exasperatedly addressed a new arrival, “Break them up, would you?”

“My tongue never even touched you!” Steve shouted.

“Am I interrupting something?” asked Sam Wilson, a.k.a. Birdman #2, coming into view at the top of the staircase in sweats and a t-shirt.

Bucky turned his attention to Wilson for just a moment, and Steve took advantage of the distraction by throwing the unshakeable Fist of HYDRA to the ground. He sprawled leisurely across Bucky with his head propped in his hands.

“Hey, Sam,” Steve greeted pleasantly.

“Steve. Barnes,” Wilson replied and nodded to each of them in turn before heading for the fridge.

Bucky huffed and wheezed as the full weight of liberty and justice for all slowly crushed his sternum. “Anyone ever tell you just how heavy you are, Steve?”

“Actually, he did, once,” Steve said, pointing in Wilson’s direction. “And you know, you’re not exactly light as a feather, either.” With that, Steve crawled off of Bucky and scooted the couch back into place.

Wilson sauntered over with a bottle of pomegranate juice in his hand and confirmed, “I did. Carried him with one hand as I soared valiantly through the sky, and--what happened here?” Wilson set his juice on the cracked coffee table and knelt down to inspect the damage.

Steve made a point of walking the ten feet to the kitchen to avoid answering.

Alright. Bucky would handle this then. “Nothing. It’s always been like that.” Flawless misdirect. He shrugged and seated himself against his pillow pile.

“It has not,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. chimed in oh so helpfully.

Sam pursed his lips and shook his head at Bucky. “Mm-hmm. So if I run the security footage back, I’m not gonna see two super-soldiers break it while roughhousing?”

Bucky, hoping to cut this line of questioning short, busied himself with searching for the remote.

Steve chose that moment to return with his earlier forgotten apple. The couch cried out with a squeaky groan when he sat down.

Wilson’s head snapped towards the sound. “Was that a creak I just heard?”

Steve bit into his apple at the same time that he shifted his weight, but the crunch couldn’t hide the furniture’s noisy protests.

“I mean, does it look broken? No,” Bucky offered. He plunged his hand between the cushions, fingers grasping.

“Unbelievable. Guy can’t sleep in on a Saturday without worrying about a couple of grown-ass toddlers destroying the furniture.” With a sigh, Wilson dropped into a massive lounge chair and kicked his feet up on the table. He settled back and frowned at something beside him. Moving a pillow aside, Birdman #2 found the remote control wedged between the cushion and the armrest.

Bucky probably wouldn’t be getting that back.

“What are we watching?” Onscreen, the tiny scientist was unscrewing his sister’s head because cartoon science. “Ooh, I love this show!”

Between mouthfuls of apple, Steve asked, “Hungry, Sam?”

“I could eat.”

At that, Steve stood and marched to the fridge. He pulled out two cartons of eggs, two packages of sausage links, and the jug of milk and set them on the counter. He went back in for an onion from the crisper drawer.

Bucky joined his friend in the kitchen. When the fridge was free, he retrieved six slices of the appetizingly named “Pasteurized Cheese Product.”

Sam looked back over his shoulder. “You guys need any help?”

“We’re good,” Bucky responded. The grown-ass toddlers were going to be responsible and make breakfast for everyone.

While Steve cracked eggs and diced the onion, Bucky dumped the sausage into a heated skillet. It sizzled and popped, and the smell of meaty goodness wafted all throughout the kitchen and living room.

Steve whisked together a hefty concoction of egg, onion, seasonings, and milk, and all that went into two more heated skillets. He swirled a spatula through the eggs and let them set.

Sausage fully cooked, Bucky set the pan aside. He began tearing three slices of cheese product into one of the egg skillets. He handed Steve the remaining slices for him to do the same.

Steve had two slices in the pan when he casually leaned over and whispered, “You think he noticed the mess?”

“I don’t think so.” Bucky let the cheese melt a bit and stirred, being sure to fully incorporate it into the eggs. “Maybe we can keep him distracted so he doesn’t walk over to that side of the room.”

“Maybe.” One sliver of cheese left, Steve popped it into his mouth. “He’s gonna be so disappointed in us.”

“I know.”

Steve left Bucky to tend to the eggs while he dropped slices of bread in the toaster.

Bucky transferred the pans of scrambled eggs to a large serving bowl. “Eggs are done. I’ll go wake Wanda.”

“No need.” Wanda quietly drifted in and took a seat at the breakfast bar.

“Hey,” Steve said with a wave.

Bucky beamed at her and singsonged, “Gooood morning, Wanda.”

“Hi, Steve. Hi, Bucky.” Her long hair was braided down her back, and she was wearing a pair of cotton shorts and a long-sleeved shirt.

Nice. It seemed everyone was operating on the same lazy wavelength today.

Everyone except Nata, apparently.

Bucky’s second best friend in the whole wide world, Natasha Romanoff, dashed up the staircase fully dressed. Not fully dressed as in I’m-Heading-Out-To-Run-Some-Errands. This was more I’m-Heading-Out-To-Kick-Someone’s-Ass. (Although the two were kind of the same thing in Nata’s world.) Leather jacket, boots, the whole deal.

She flew through the kitchen, neatly assembling an egg and sausage sandwich.

“Where are you off to?” Bucky asked.

“Clint called. He’s gotten himself in some trouble and needs my help.” Nata threw her free arm around Bucky’s neck. He leaned down and returned the embrace.

“Have fun,” he told her.

“Wish I could stay and hang out with you guys.” She turned around and gave Steve a similar one-armed hug before briskly making her exit.

“Tell him we say hi,” Steve called after her.

Nata waved a hand behind her as she took a bite of her sandwich. She spun on her heel with praise on her lips, “This is delicious.”

“Thank you,” Bucky and Steve answered in unison.

She laughed and went on her way.

Steve laid out food, plates, and silverware along the bar. “Fill up your plates. Whatever you don’t eat, we will,” he ordered

Wanda hopped off her stool and went down the line. Bit of egg, bit of sausage, bit of toast.

Wilson wandered in rubbing his stomach. “Smells good.” He took a plate and began dishing out food.

“Who wants milk?” Wanda left her plate on the counter and went to the fridge.

The three men answered in the affirmative.

She poured a glass and held it out to Wilson, who had reached the end of the bar. “Thank you very much,” he said around the fork hanging out his mouth.

Wanda poured three more glasses, and Steve divided the rest of breakfast on two plates. When he turned around to take the milk, Bucky shoveled some food from his plate to Steve’s.

Steve paused, glass of milk in each hand. “That’s all you want?”

“I had a big bowl of cereal like an hour ago.” Bucky picked up his plate, took his glass from Steve, and followed Wilson to the living room.

For a moment, it looked like Wilson was heading towards Bucky’s couch. But at the last second he turned towards his lounge chair, and thank goodness, ‘cause Bucky didn’t wanna throwdown before he’d had a chance to eat.

Steve went for the creaky couch, and Wanda was left with the choice of sitting next to Bucky, next to Steve, or on the floor.

Bucky patted the empty seat at his side. “Hey, Wanda, come sit with me. Those guys are a couple of Class A jerks.”

“Look who’s talking,” Wilson retorted before taking a sip of his milk.

Wanda took Bucky up on his offer. She tucked a leg underneath her and set her plate in her lap.

The four heroes ate their meal and enjoyed the cartoon marathon on TV right now.

The boy genius was currently curled up in the corner of his powerless laboratory. “Oh, computer. What will I do without my lab? My experiments?” His eyes widened. “Go outside?” A thought bubble popped up, and the tiny scientist was standing in the middle of a peaceful meadow. Woodland creatures suddenly attacked from every angle without warning.

“That’s the real reason Stark kept the suit,” Wilson quipped. “It was just that image on repeat in the back of his mind all day.” He speared a piece of sausage on the end of his fork. “Did you have shows like this, growing up in Sokovia?”

Wanda briefly glanced back before returning her attention to the screen, eyes bright. “Not like this, no. We did have a lot of the Western educational programs. PBS stuff. It was how Pietro and I first started to learn English.” She paused. “And _Dallas_. Constant reruns of _Dallas_.”

Wilson’s eyebrows shot up. “The ‘Who Shot JR?’ _Dallas_?”

She nodded. “Mama loved Barbara Bel Geddes.”

They returned to their comfortable silence.

Bucky wordlessly leaned sideways and bumped Wanda’s shoulder. The knock pushed her away before she rebounded and bumped back into Bucky. He kept the motion going: sideways at first then back towards Wanda. Without looking away from the TV, they bounced back and forth like a couple of balls in a Newton’s cradle.

Steve stood and took both his and Wilson’s plates and glasses to the kitchen. Bucky mirrored this, grabbing his and Wanda’s dishes along with, whoops, his long forgotten cereal bowl.

Steve had the faucet running. His fingers tested the water. Bucky gingerly placed his dishes in the sink. When the water was hot enough, Steve scrubbed the dishes clean and handed them to Bucky, who dried them with a towel and moved about the kitchen putting them away. They would hear the occasional chuckle or giggle from the two in the living room.

A loud guffaw from Wilson grabbed their attention. “Oh my goodness, Steve, Steve. Look, it’s you!”

“Bucky already beat you to that punchline.” He rinsed the last fork clean of all soapy residue.

“I don’t think he did.”

Steve went into the living room to investigate Sam’s claim. Bucky quickly dried the fork and dropped it in the silverware drawer before joining him.

Wilson pointed at the screen, where a bear vehicle was using its giant mechanical bear claws to tunnel its way through a gargantuan mountain of garbage.

Ah, yes. That was most definitely Steve to a T.

It cut to inside the bear vehicle. Boy Genius said, “Mr. Fuzzums, here we come!”

Then his sister with the squishy shoes, practically catatonic, mumbled over and over, “Fuzzums, fuzzums, uzzums, fuzzums.”

Back to her brother, “You okay, DeeDee?”

“Fuzzum fuzzum fuzzum fuzzum, uzzum fuzzum fuzzum, fuzzum...” and so on. She looked over at him, and he was holding his hands out, trying desperately not to strangle her.

Birdman #2 exclaimed, “Two years of fruitless searching for your slippery Bucky Bear ass!” He swiveled and pointed at Bucky. “That’s what it was like.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t that bad.”

Bucky hopped over the back of the creaky couch, landing as lightly as he could on the broken furniture. Steve walked around and sat next to him.

Wilson shook his head at Bucky, then Wanda. “It was pretty bad. Let it be known that good times were not had by all.” He rewound the program. “And that’s not even the best part.”

DeeDee slooowly slid into a split. Her eyes were half-shut, and her pigtails were looking droopy. Dexter hummed, “Hmm. We’d better get you inside.”

Sam Wilson presented Exhibit B of the Trials and Tribulations of Birdman. “This is me lugging your big Irish ass to the hospital.”

Dexter started to drag his sister offscreen, grunting and groaning. “Hoooh boy, this is hard work.”

Bucky snorted at the scene. “You need to do more pull-ups, Sam.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Barnes. You’re in here, too.” He fast-forwarded to Exhibit C.

A teddy bear with a torn ear and an odd toothy grimace was laying in a landfill.

Dexter cried out, “Look what I found!” and presented DeeDee with the off-putting bear.

His sister immediately perked up and chattered, “Uzzum? Uzzum fuzzums uzzum fuzzums!”

The tiny scientist paused. “Well, he’s not quite Mr. Fuzzums, but he’s almost as good, huh?”

Bucky felt Steve lean against him, a solid, comforting weight. They had had some bad times, the two of them. Bucky was no longer the James Buchanan Barnes of 1943. Nor was he entirely the Winter Soldier. He was something in between, and he was getting better every day.

Never once in a million years did Bucky think he would be getting sentimental over a silly cartoon. He let himself slump against Steve.

In his peripheral vision, he could swear he saw Sam Wilson smiling softly.

But it was gone in a flash. Wilson pointed at the screen and declared, “This is us fighting on the helicarrier.”

Dexter was thinking out loud, “Now, what was that bear called?” while in the background, DeeDee was running around with the chomping teddy bear latched on to her pigtail. “Mr. Chewy-Bite-’Ems?” She tugged at the bear, threw him to the ground, and stomped on it. “Ah, something like that.” And then she kicked him away, never to be seen again.

Thank goodness things had turned out differently for Bucky.

The adventures of the boy genius and his ditzy sister eventually came to an end. They were followed by a series of episodes of another animated show, this one about a blue cat and his adopted brother...a fish? And their dad was a pink rabbit. A blue cat mother and son, a pink rabbit father and daughter, and an adopted orange fish.

Whoever came up with these ideas was a creative genius.

When lunchtime rolled around, Wilson got up and made everyone peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. One for Wanda, two for Sam, three each for Bucky and Steve.

Somewhere in between munching on his sandwiches and watching an ice cream cone girl follow the cat and fish brothers around, Bucky realized he had inadvertently surrendered Mt. Pillow to Wanda. But he didn’t particularly mind.

During a commercial break, Bucky announced, “Hey, I’ve got a great idea. Let’s have a campout, right here in the middle of the living room.”

Steve agreed, “Ah ‘ike et,” around a mouthful of peanut butter.

Wanda chewed slowly and thoughtfully. She nodded once. “Could be fun.”

Buzzkill Wilson checked his watch. “I’ve got to be at the VA by four. And I’m going in tomorrow morning at about seven thirty. You don’t need me tiptoeing all around trying to be quiet at six o’ clock in the morning.”

“Look at this guy, going in to work on the weekend and making the rest of us look bad,” Bucky complained, jutting a thumb towards Wilson.

“One of us has to set a good example.” He stood and dusted his hands off. He rotated back and forth at the waist, stretched his arms across his chest.

Wanda leaned forward to ask, “You think we should get the pillows and blankets from our rooms?”

“That’s a great idea,” answered Bucky.

Steve spread his arms out in front of him. “If we each collect all our bedding, we can build a giant nest right here in the middle of the room.”

A broad smile lit up Wanda’s face. She jumped off the couch and practically bounded to the stairs. “I’ll go get my stuff.”

Good. Kid had earned the right to be a kid once in a while.

As soon as she was gone, Wilson stopped stretching. “Speaking of setting a good example, I’d clean up those little stones now, while she’s not around.”

“Aw, man,” Bucky muttered.

“He noticed,” Steve responded.

With a smirk and a slow nod, Wilson declared, “I notice everything.” He turned and headed for the exit. “I’ve got to get going.”

“Byyyee,” the boys called in unison.

They flew into action. Steve dashed to the closet for a broom, Bucky sprinted to the trash can. He tucked it under his arm and Heisman Trophy rushed his way to the sea of glass. He scooped up handfuls of pebbles and poured them in. Steve swept together all the strays he could find and joined Bucky in scooping and pouring.

Bucky righted the end table and set the bowl on top. Steve held the funny wicker balls and arranged them in a neat little display.

By the time Wanda returned, floating a bundle of blankets in front of her, pillows under her arm, Steve and Bucky were sitting on the couch finishing lunch as if nothing had ever been amiss.

Steve wiped his mouth with a napkin. He jogged past Wanda, said, “I’ll be right back,” and disappeared down the stairs.

Bucky and Wanda pushed the cracked coffee table to the wall. Not happy with the amount of space, they scooted the couches and lounge chair farther and farther apart until there was a sizable square of bare floor.

Wanda spotted a rounded bit of blue glass on an area of newly uncovered floor. She grabbed it and held it up to the light. “Don’t we have a bowl of these somewhere?”

Bucky plucked it from her fingers and headed for the trash can. “I haven’t seen one.”

Steve came clambering up the stairs with blankets and pillows piled high in his arms. They completely obscured his vision, but he had no problem navigating his way to the living room. He dropped the bedding on top of Wanda’s and retrieved a comforter from the pile.

With a flick of his wrists, Steve snapped the comforter in the air and let it drift into place. It settled in uneven hills and valleys, wrinkled and askew.

Steve proudly surveyed his work. “Perfect.” He turned around to get another blanket, and Bucky set about straightening the comforter to achieve maximum comfort levels.

Steve whipped a second blanket in the air and didn’t wait to watch it fall before reaching for another layer. While his back was turned, Bucky waved Wanda over and pointed at the wonky blanket. She gladly took over rearranging duties while Bucky took his trip down to his quarters.

Bursting into his room like a man on a mission, Bucky first went to the bathroom pantry. On the top shelf were spare throws and afghans. He grabbed a thick burgundy crochet afghan, a dual-sided blanket of faux velvet and sheepskin, and a fringed green throw. He wasn’t sure what it was made of, but it was silky and drapey and almost velvety. If he had to guess, he’d say it was chenille.

He stacked his three pieces of heaven in the middle of his bedspread and folded the corners up like a bindle. He hefted the entire package onto his shoulder and held it in place with his hand. The other swung his pillows at his side.

He stopped in his doorway. “F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

“Sergeant?”

“I have a favor to ask. I want a whole bunch of cartoons. I’m talking the silliest, happiest, mindless stuff you can find.”

She didn’t respond immediately; Bucky was pretty sure she paused for dramatic effect. “You think I haven’t already been doing exactly that? Just you wait and see what I’ve got lined up. And it’s all on streaming services, entirely accessible from the television upstairs.”

“Sounds wonderful.” With the deepest appreciation for F.R.I.D.A.Y., Bucky left his room and returned to his friends upstairs.

In the hallway, F.R.I.D.A.Y. asked with a hint of teasing snark in her voice, “You do know how to access the streaming services, don’t you?”

He didn’t dignify that question with a response.

Halfway up the stairs, he could hear Steve and Wanda debating the state of the makeshift bed.

Wanda, “You don’t think it needs more?”

Steve, “I’m kinda liking it right now. Not too hard, not too soft.”

“Goldilocks thinks it’s just right.” Bucky stood over his friends and gave the set-up a once-over; it was looking pretty good.

On a mass of softness about two inches thick, Wanda and Steve were lying side by side face up. Steve had his arm underneath his head and a hand on his stomach. Wanda’s fingers were laced together over her rib cage. Couch pillows were piled along the length (the pillow mountain had been destroyed), and their bed pillows were at the head. The end result was that they were surrounded by walls of fluff on three sides.

Steve looked up at him. “What do you think?”

Bucky dropped his pillows on Steve’s face. He tossed the bindle into the lounge chair and stepped in the small space between Steve and Wanda. He dropped to the ground and wriggled and squirmed until they had moved over enough to accommodate him.

He sighed a sigh of content and closed his eyes. “This is nice.” Steve huffed beside him. Bucky ignored it. “We can always put another blanket or two on Wanda’s side.”

“What if I wanted the middle?”

“Too bad.”

Steve groaned, “I’d rather not sleep next to a cold metal arm.”

“Too bad,” Bucky repeated.

After a few quiet moments, Bucky felt a warm buzzing sensation all over his body. Strange. He had felt this once before, on Thursday, when Wanda--

His eyes shot open. Bucky was in the air, surrounded by a fiery crimson cloud. He looked down; Steve rolled sideways, Wanda, the sneaky little traitor (she didn’t deserve Bucky’s affection or Mt. Pillow), climbed over him, and Bucky was pushed to the edge of the sleeping arrangement. The cloud suddenly dissipated, and he fell to Earth.

Bucky was beginning to rethink his decision to ever get out of bed this morning.

While Thing 1 and Thing 2 howled like a couple of hyenas, Bucky stood without a word and untied his bindle bundle. He folded the bedspread into a roughly Wanda-sized rectangle. When he held it out, she rolled over, immediately rolling back after he laid it down.

She smiled at him. “Thank you. It’s perfect now.”

He nodded. He took the three smaller blankets and tossed them in the air. These he let fall haphazardly, to be pulled over legs or bodies as desired. He grabbed the remote control before returning to the floor.

All was right in the world; Bucky had the remote again.

“Hey, Buck--” Steve started.

Bucky turned the volume up on a commercial for some new show involving magic and swords and knights for hire. It didn’t look too great. A bad joke about a gassy dinosaur assaulted their ears.

To ignore Steve, it was worth it.

“Silent treatment again? That’s real mature.” Steve must’ve addressed Wanda next, because he said, “This is the second time he’s ignored me today.”

Bucky muted the television and rotated his body to give Steve his full attention. “Yes, Steve?”

“Wanda has something she’d like to say.” He nodded at Wanda, who was squinting at the ceiling.

After a moment, she turned to Bucky with mix of amusement and genuine regret on her face. “I’m sorry for lifting you without your permission.”

He waved the comment away. “I’m over it,” and with that, he unmuted the TV and lowered the volume to a more reasonable level.

A new program was just starting. Could it possibly top the hilarity Bucky had already witnessed today? Doubtful, but he was gonna give it a chance.

There was an apathetic girl with a cloak, a pink-haired ray of sunshine, a little green goblin looking dude, a guy who was about ninety-three percent robot, and a kid with a cape. A cape and a staff. These five young heroes were defending their city from a nefarious foe when a speedy outsider ran in and fucked shit up.

Seemed promising.

It turned out that the heroes lived together in a tower--a bit of a silly premise. It became immediately clear that the kid with the cape was a control freak and that he had no powers, but he was somehow the leader of this team. He ended up challenging the lightning bolt to a race; the winner would hold the title of leader.

Was the control freak nervous? Of course not. He didn’t even concern himself with physical training, because by golly, he believed in himself. And the power of belief could work miracles.

Incredible.

Come race day, in a shocking unforeseen upset, the caped kid lost. No matter. He immediately challenged speedster kid to a rematch. Which he lost. Again and again. And again. And again.

But he would not give up so easily. He agreed to completely relinquish power only if the human lightning bolt could beat him...in a foot race.

Race day, at the starting line.

Ready.

Set.

 _Believe_.

The pistol fired.

The neurotic gadget-laden boy swung his staff full force into the quickster’s knees, crippling him. Then he beat feet down the track, friends cheering him on, paying absolutely no attention to the injured kid at the starting line. He tore through the finish line, and they carried him away on their shoulders as he cried tears of joy.

Bucky was crying tears of amusement, Wanda was laughing with her head thrown back, and Steve just looked happy that everyone else was happy.

Every person on this teenaged team was kind of terrible, and Bucky was kind of loving it. To him, it was like a PG version of a show that Barton introduced him to, about a group of friends who owned a pub in Philly. A bunch of shitty people doing shitty things.

Absolute quality material for impressionable young children. And there were so many more episodes coming on. Like three hours’ worth, oh God.

So of course they sat there and watched all three hours. What else were they gonna do?

When the credits ran on the last episode, three glorious laugh-filled hours later, Bucky switched over to one of those fancy pants on-demand streaming channels. He saw that the watchlist consisted of cartoon after cartoon, and he made a mental note to express a heartfelt thank you to F.R.I.D.A.Y. as soon as possible.

All four seasons of the cat-rabbit-fish family show were on there, and Bucky immediately selected it. But he didn’t play anything just yet. There were more important matters to take care of first. “I’m hungry,” he complained to Steve.

“You’re always hungry,” came the response.

“Well, so are you.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t.”

Steve was fixing to get a pillow to the face again. And this time he’d actually deserve it.

“Come on, let’s find something to eat,” Bucky said. He stood and waited for Steve to follow.

The big blond rose to his feet and slung his arm around Bucky’s shoulders. They walked together to the kitchen, and Wanda stayed behind.

Steve looked back and asked, “Aren’t you hungry?”

She shrugged but got up and joined them. Bucky realized that her mood had taken a sharp turn into unwelcome--yet familiar--territory.

She was retreating.

There was leftover cabbage soup in the fridge that Wanda had made; Bucky grabbed that while she produced bowls.

Steve frowned and took a seat at the bar. Bucky looked at him; Steve gave a barely discernible nod. Bucky took that as a cue to edge away and give the two some space.

“Wanda,” Steve said in that firm yet gentle tone of voice, full of warmth and understanding. This was no longer Steven Grant Rogers, Bucky’s best friend and Brooklyn’s most ambitious street fighter. This was the Steve Rogers who took it upon himself to look after and personally care for everyone under his command. But they both had the same golden heart.

In that moment, Bucky thought that maybe Steve was in between, too. Not quite Steve Rogers, not quite Captain America, but moving towards something else.

Completely lost inside his head, he almost didn’t hear the carefully distant, “Hmm?” from Wanda.

“You know that you can always talk to me about what’s bothering you,” Steve told her.

She focused on ladling soup into three bowls. “You’ll hate me.”

“I could never hate you.”

She put the ladle down and looked directly at him, face hard around the edges. “Well sometimes I hate you.”

Bucky reeled. Not the response he’d been expecting. He saw Steve blink and cock his head. It seemed it had surprised him, too.

Wanda looked at Bucky and added, “Both of you. How happy you are.” Something resembling a smile flitted across her face. “That makes me sound like a bitter old woman, but it’s how I feel. You get your best friend back after I lose mine; I suppose the universe felt it had to balance itself out.” Her face softened, and she looked at Steve with a mix of affection and resentment.

Whether it was resentment towards him or herself, Bucky couldn’t tell. Probably both. It was a familiar sentiment.

Steve crossed his arms. He breathed deeply, slowly. “I know what it’s like to hate everything around you. I was mad at the world for taking my life from me. I did find out that one person I loved was still around, but that was...” he trailed off, shaking the thought away. He continued, “It was like I was being punished for something, and I couldn’t figure out what. Eventually I stopped caring about anything, really.”

“How did you handle it?”

“Badly. I spent two years thinking I was alone, then I came to find that the person I missed most was alive but stuck in a terrible situation. Then I spent another two years not knowing whether he was dead or alive.”

Bucky was studying the floor, but he could feel Steve looking at him.

Steve’s voice was thick when he said, “I’m lucky. I’m the luckiest guy in the world to have my brother back in my life, and I thank God for it every day. I wish I could tell you that it gets easier, Wanda, but it doesn’t. You’re never over it.”

Wanda nodded, eyes focused on nothing. “Good to know.” She turned away to heat each of the bowls in the microwave.

Bucky slowly made his way over to Steve in the meantime. He stood alongside him and put a hand on Steve’s back, absently rubbing it back and forth.

Wanda set a bowl in front of each of the boys and gazed at the two of them. “I am happy for you. But there are times when I find myself wishing I could turn back the clock,” she admitted.

Steve nodded. “I know.” A soft, sad smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “None of us can go back. Sometimes, the best that we can do is to start over.”

Bucky spoke up then, “It helps when you have someone to start over with. For me, I had Natasha. And you, you have us. No one should ever have to know the loss we’ve all experienced.” He raised a shoulder and let it drop heavily. “But we don’t live in a perfect world. And like Steve said, if there’s anybody who knows what you’re going through...” he paused, trying to choose his words. “Just know that we’re always gonna be here, whether you like it or not.”

Wanda chewed her lip. The sparkle was returning to her eyes. “I should really be more grateful. I haven’t had that bad a life, all things considered.”

Steve waved his hand at her statement. “We all have our bad moments.”

Bucky felt the need to laugh out loud to cut through the heavy blanket of emotion that had settled in the kitchen. “Jesus Christ. Now that that’s settled, let’s go see what those crazy kids Gumball and Darwin are up to.”

With light hearts, the trio of heroes took their supper to their mess of blankets and settled down to watch some more television. Bucky chose the episodes that told of how Darwin the fish went from pet to half-brother, because it was about damn time he got some answers.

Two and a half hours later, Bucky decided, after some pestering from Wanda, that they should watch something else for a while. He chose a show from the watchlist at random: two twins go to stay with their great-uncle in Oregon and hunt monsters. Maybe that wasn’t quite right, but in this episode they were hunting a monster.

It was so easy to just tune out and let the episodes play one after another. Before he knew it, it was past midnight. Their bowls laid empty on the floor around them. Bucky figured someone should get up and put those in the sink. That someone would not be him.

He glanced over at his friends. Bucky had the sheepskin blanket draped across his chest, Steve had the green throw over his legs, and Wanda had wrapped herself in the burgundy afghan. He could see that she was fighting to keep her eyes open.

Bucky stretched out and laid his legs over Wanda’s. Despite her drowsiness, she was having none of it. She rotated so that her head was propped against Steve, and she let her legs drop onto Bucky’s stomach. She no longer fought to stay awake and was out in minutes.

Before long, Bucky’s eyelids were growing heavy. But he had to finish this episode. He could talk to stay awake. “Steve?”

Steve hummed, low and quiet, “Mm?”

“If you were my fish and I accidentally flushed you down the toilet, would you brave the desert to make it home to me?” he pondered, calling back to Darwin’s origin story.

“Maybe. Would you pass the bears that growl and roar to make it home?”

“That depends. Would you slap your way out of an eagle’s mouth to make it home?”

Steve grunted. “I would be the eagle. Then I could carry you and fly us both home.”

Bucky snorted at his answer, and Steve chuckled, a deep rumble in his chest.

They were drifting. Bucky didn’t finish the episode. He didn’t even turn the TV off.

Steve and Bucky fell asleep with Wanda in between, a tangled mass of super-soldier and sorceress.

Seconds, minutes, or hours later, Bucky stirred, unaware of what time it was. He blinked against the groggy fog and saw it was still dark out. TV was off. Another mental note to thank F.R.I.D.A.Y. He couldn’t place what woke him at first. Then he heard it: the very softest footfalls.

He’d recognize those misty steps anywhere.

Nata ghosted in. She leaned over Steve and tugged up a blanket that had fallen.

Bucky waved and rolled over, letting his eyes slide shut. A pair of lips touched themselves to his forehead.

“Сладких снов, брат,” she whispered, and Bucky drifted back to sleep.

Today had been his happiest day in such a long, long time.

**Author's Note:**

> My God. I wrote over 10K words about sitting around all day, eating and watching television.
> 
> I'm so sorry.


End file.
